Lacuna
by jowchi
Summary: Centuries ago, the Moon gifted Her beloved humans with Hogyoku, a small portion of Herself, unknowing that man's greed would corrupt and shatter it. Generations later, Captain Jaegerjaquez must protect his kingdom from the war Hogyoku has caused, and figure out what happened to the best friend and lover he'd thought he'd lost for good 4 years ago, now back as his sworn enemy.
1. 0: Prologue

* info & warnings at bottom.

* * *

 _lacuna_

 _(n.) a missing part; a blank space_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **4 YRS AGO**

"You think we'll ever get outta this hell hole?"

Ichigo did not respond. Grimmjow went on, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the log they were sharing.

"Growin' up learning about those soldiers who died at war – didn't imagine I would be one o' them in a couple years."

He heard a slight rustle as Ichigo turned to look at him. Grimmjow continued to stare at the moon, which was white and round and not nearly as luminous as he remembered.

"Fuck, Ichi. We're at _war,_ and we don't even know who we're up against. _"_

"I know." It was a brutal truth. They were at war with an unidentified enemy, and things seemed pretty bleak. Grimmjow felt Ichigo watching him. He honestly could not determine what he was feeling deep inside the pit of his stomach – disbelief, horror, excitement?

"We're killing people, and fighting to the death."

"… Yeah."

"We have no clue when it's going to be peaceful again, if ever."

Grimmjow's eyes flicked to the side just as Ichigo pulled his head down in a nod. The particularly large bruise he'd acquired that day was beginning to throb for no good reason. Grimmjow did not complain, though – never did. Some soldiers lay in eternal death; others spent the night groaning from fatal wounds. Just because the two partners were god-gifted fighters did not mean every other man suffered any less pain.

"Children might not live to see twenty. We might never grow old together."

He thought he heard the scowl in Ichigo's voice. "Grimm."

"We're all murderers now. Nothing'll ever be the same again."

"…"

"I can't lose you, all right?" Grimmjow clenched his fists, glaring holes into the damp grass they had set up camp on. "Every morning, I'm absolutely terrified that you won't be with me by sundown. Every night, I thank the stars that you are."

"Grimmjow. I can handle myself."

Only then did Grimmjow turn to look Ichigo in the eyes, noticing the way the latter's voice had dipped low in warning. Of course Grimmjow knew that, but it did not take his worries away. The next time Ichigo spoke, his tone had become significantly softer.

"We'll be okay," he said quietly, reaching up to run his thumb over Grimmjow's cheek. Ichigo leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on his partner's chapped lips.

To anyone else, his words created an empty promise. To the pair, every syllable was sincere. As long as they were fighting for the Alliance, fighting alongside one another, they knew that they were going to be okay.

* * *

The next morning was chaos. The city they were currently staying in had been ambushed; innocent civilians injured, houses torched. Several – children included – lay scorched and lifeless on the ground due to the explosives. The medical team was sent out to tend to civilians and soldiers alike, and that was when another wave of incendiaries hit.

Dozens were killed in mere seconds. The earlier ambush had been nothing but a decoy.

The first person Grimmjow looked for was Ichigo. He'd woken to the sound of terror, and the two had rushed out together before they were separated in the midst of insanity. Amongst all the screaming, crying, and desperate calling of names, his eyes frantically searched for a head of bright orange hair. He felt a panic rising rapidly within him when he couldn't find it. Shit, he'd been distracted; he should have never looked away in the first place, no matter how good of a fighter Ichigo was –

Orange. Ichigo was surrounded by a good number of soldiers, all closing in on him. He could handle them, right? Grimmjow took off in his partner's direction when he was stopped by an enemy troop, dressed from top to bottom in black. He roared in frustration, slamming his sword against his opponent's. His gaze constantly flickered between the soldier and Ichigo, desperate to get to his friend and infuriated that his attacks were continuously being parried.

It was barely a moment that Grimmjow had looked away – no more than a couple of seconds. He slashed the opponent's throat with a single concentrated swing, reveling in the splatter of blood he received in return. He'd whipped his head back toward where Ichigo…

Should have been.

A sense of dread pooled rapidly in the pit of Grimmjow's stomach as he scanned the area in a panic. His mind went numb, blotting out any coherent thought save for: _find him._

And he did. Just as another challenger attacked, Grimmjow found wide auburn eyes through the crowds, lips frantically asking for murder – Ichigo, without a moment of hesitation, choosing death over being captured by the enemy. Grimmjow killed the man he was fighting with a single blow and made a mad dash for Ichigo. He could have reached for his throwing blade and quickly killed Ichigo with deadly aim. He was supposed to have, since that had been their promise from the start of the war several weeks ago. Death over betrayal.

But he couldn't. It was the only promise he'd made to Ichigo that Grimmjow had ever broken.

Grimmjow cried aloud, running faster than he'd ever run in his life, but it was not enough. The panicking crowd got in the way. He shoved through, slashing enemy throats as he sprinted. By the time his line of sight cleared again, Ichigo was gone. His head whipped from side to side as he searched in vain.

The deafening noises of dismay seemed to fade, Grimmjow unable to hear anything anymore other than the ringing in his ears. His head was pounding, heart leaping up into his mouth every time he took a breath. He felt as if his insides would spill from within him at any given moment. Something boiled over from deep in his throat, and he screamed as Abarai's strong arms caught him from behind, yanking him back to prevent him from making any reckless decisions. The battle had ended just as quickly as it had come, and the opposing army seemed to have vanished. The three or so prisoners of war Grimmjow's side had managed to capture all blew themselves up with the explosives they'd had within their clothing. The city was left practically destroyed and without any leads to the anonymous enemy.

It was all extremely vexing – at the very least. Grimmjow stood stone still as the surviving healers rushed about to aid the wounded and everyone else rushed to put out the blazing fires all over the city. He had not even noticed the smoke. Ichigo was gone.

Grimmjow found himself outside the city – when he had begun walking escaped his train of thought. Ichigo was gone.

He had been weak. He had failed to save his oldest friend and partner. And now Ichigo was gone.

Grimmjow's knees fell against the dirt, and he allowed the tears to spill over and pour down his cheeks, wiping the dried blood and grime as they fell. Grimmjow could not remember the last time he'd cried, but he knew he had never sobbed this hard in his entire life.

 _Ichigo was gone._

* * *

 _And that is it for the prologue! I wasn't planning on uploading this for a while, but I saw BRENDON URIE last night, and it was absolutely amazing, so I had to! In honour of Panic! at the Disco, here you go!_

 _Please let me know what you think!_

 _Jou_

 _ **Warnings for shitty (modern) language, time skipping/rewinding, possible character death, & eventual LOVIN' (coughcough that means MATURE homo action, yes?). This story will consist of fantastical aspects, set in a medieval time, so if that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to leave. Thank you.**_


	2. 1: Tell Me I'm Dreaming

_._

 _lacuna_

 _x_

 **1\. Tell Me I'm Dreaming**

 **PRESENT**

Exhausted. Limbs heavy, head pounding, body aching. Grimmjow ran a calloused hand through his hair, pushing stray strands from his forehead. Dried sweat coated his entire body, and to say the least, it was unpleasant. Shawlong stood behind him, rattling on and on about _something_ Grimmjow'd already heard the previous night…

"Yeah, okay. I know. _Dismissed," he grunted, softly flicking his wrist to shoo the man away._

"Yes, Captain… Ah, about tomorrow – will it be fine to just… shall I…?"

"I _said,_ dismissed," Grimmjow cut him off. He knew what Shawlong was trying to say, and he did not wish to speak of it.

"… Excuse my insolence. Rest well, Captain Jaegerjaquez," his third-in-command said before he exited Grimmjow's tent.

Silence at last. Sometimes, Shawlong just went on for too fucking long with his daily reports. He was ready to drop at any given moment, but Grimmjow would not allow himself to fall to such trivial temptation. He rose and washed himself, unequipped his armour, and even blew his lamp out before he fell into bed.

Despite his tired eyes and sluggish body, sleep refused to take him. He lay awake for long hours, mind racing with thoughts unwanted – thoughts that swam back to him again and again, no matter how many times he tried to push them away. Tomorrow marked the day on which, four years ago, his closest friend and lover had been taken from him. He dreaded the morning sun, for when it rose, he knew it would open the door to the day all through which his subordinates would be especially cautious around him. They'd search his expressions more closely than ever, overly heedful of every word that came from their mouths. They would be warned to keep as far away from him as possible. By the end of the day, however, he'd still be weary and irritated no matter how extravagant their efforts. The last couple of days had been trying enough already. They'd spent tireless nights preparing for the looming war, sending messengers back and forth, and even traveling long distances himself to negotiate alliances with smaller neighbouring kingdoms. At such a shit time too. He was not ready for tomorrow.

An odd noise – something like clinking, sliding? – woke him from his musings. It was quiet, extremely subdued, and Grimmjow would easily have missed it had his nerves been any less fired up. As slowly and silently as physically possible, he sat up and reached over to grab the dagger at his bedside. The clinking was replaced by a rustle and a grunt from outside his tent. His heart beat strong and steady, albeit slightly faster than usual. He was not afraid. If it were a murderer, let him come and try him. A lifetime of intense training and field experience gave him all the spirit he needed.

"Reveal yourself," he called out into the darkness. His eyes flicked from side to side, trying to determine a figure within the tent. He'd let his guard down too much. It should have been impossible for someone to get in. Where were the goddamned guards when you needed them?

A few tense moments, swallowed in black, followed his deep voice. He slowly, carefully reached beside him for his dagger and concentrated his hearing, straining to detect any unannounced sounds that may ensue. One small noise was all he needed…

 _Above_.

His arm shot up to deflect a small blade, it ricocheting away with a clatter. The wrestle that followed was not easy; his opponent had produced another miniature weapon to go against Grimmjow's own dagger. Although there was only so much Grimmjow could analyse in complete darkness, he could not help but notice the power and agility with which his opponent moved. The blows came quietly, accurately, and from the most unusual of angles. He knew without a doubt that any regular man would have fallen to the first swipe of the assassin's blade.

"What is your name?" Grimmjow managed to slip in between blows. He wished to know. A warrior in possession of such skill deserved to be recognised. As expected, however, no answer was given.

The attacks only grew stronger and more determined. It was blocking after swiping after blocking. Grimmjow was undoubtedly stronger – his build was larger, bulkier – but his opponent was quicker, his strikes strategic and well-aimed. Grimmjow felt a sharp pain at his left arm where a blade had managed to cut him, but he took pleasure in the fact that his dagger also dragged against taut flesh. It had been too long since he'd met a worthy opponent.

The struggle continued for another solid minute before the other attempted a much too obvious stab at Grimmjow's chest. Grimmjow caught the arm – slender but muscular, twisted it so the blade faced its holder, and pushed.

A grunt escaped the failed assassin's mouth – the first noise to ever come from his throat. It was the voice of a male – albeit strangely distorted. He had been pierced by his own blade. Grimmjow held the weapon in place and grabbed his man's other arm to twist it behind his back.

"Shawlong!" Grimmjow called at last. His captive started at the sound of his voice. He jerked his head up, colliding with Grimmjow's chin. It loosened the iron grip enough to escape, the stranger thrashing all the while. "Shawlong!" Finally free, the unidentified man made for the threshold of the tent. Grimmjow did not chase him. He did not try to grab his potential murderer again because he was stunned by what he saw. The fabric covering the opening to the tent was tossed aside, the moonlight allowed entry, and only under the white gleam of the night was Grimmjow able to distinguish the bright orange hair that covered his assassin's head.

The man turned around one last time; his face was fully covered with a skull mask, his breathing raspy but his passionate gaze burning holes through Grimmjow's own azure orbs. Then he was off.

Grimmjow did not need to remain in shocked silence for very long, for Shawlong and several of his subordinates came rushing in. What wonderful soldiers, to run in just as a potential assassin had gotten away.

"Captain Jaegerjaquez!" Shawlong looked panicked – an unusual look for his typically composed expression. "What has happened here?"

What indeed.

The piece of cloth that had once served as a door to the tent was abandoned on the ground, next to the blade Grimmjow had first tossed away when he disarmed the assassin. His sleeping mat was in a state of chaos, along with Grimmjow's hair.

"You're bleeding, sir," one of the men noted. Grimmjow glanced down at his left arm, still leaking crimson and beginning to feel impossibly numb. He nodded slightly, dazed. He'd bitten his tongue when the unexpected visitor hit his chin. Shawlong was already calling for the medics.

"The blade was poisoned. Thank heavens it was only a slight scratch," informed one of the healers after careful examination of Grimmjow's arm. This caught his attention. "We have the antidote, but–"

"What kind of poison?" the captain interrupted. His stupefied state was suddenly nonexistent, and the entirety of his attention was focused solely on the medic.

"It… it is a p-p-paralysing poison. It's, um, only temporary, but it will take a while to recover from, and it could be fatal if the dose is sufficient, or if it is left untreated for too long."

" _How_ long?" He was practically growling in the medic's face now.

"It d-depends on the dose and how much movement the patient is–"

" _How long?_ " Grimmjow demanded. The medic cowered.

"Anywhere from half an hour to eight!"

 _Shit._

Grimmjow stood abruptly, the healers just barely finishing up with the treatment. He knew not where he had to go, but he did know that he at least had to try to find this mysterious visitor. He shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his cloak and dagger.

"Where are you going, Jaegerjaquez?" Shawlong inquired, as always, his furrowed eyebrows fretting away at his lifespan. "Who did this?"

"Send a team out. Search for a man in complete black attire. And a mask. He's hurt. Bring him to me – alive."

"Black–? Captain, nearly our entire army fits a description of dark clothing; it will be impossible to…"

"Orange hair."

Grimmjow left without another word, hurriedly mounting his black horse, Desgarron – monstrous in her size and speed. They rode into the woods, Shawlong yelling his name all the while his voice faded out behind Grimmjow. He was sure an assassin would not run through an enemy camp injured, nor would he flee along the open horizons to the north. The only other direction he could have taken was through the forest. He raced forward, the wind wailing in his ears and his thoughts digging painfully into his temples.

By the time thirty minutes had long passed, Grimmjow was becoming desperate. As expected of a professional killer, his tracks were near impossible to spot. He needed to find this man; he needed to find him, or else he thought he might actually go insane with unanswered questions and the migraines they caused.

Orange hair. He'd only ever known one person with hair of such bright tangerine.

"Whoa," he said at last, Des coming to a gradual halt from her nonstop galloping.

Apart from the sound of Des's shuffling hooves on fallen leaves, the forest was almost eerily serene. He had stopped because a branch had fallen from above and hit the ground not far from where he rode.

A quiet rustle. It wasn't much, but it was all that Grimmjow needed to track down the source.

Stray leaves floated from a tall tree above him. He halted and stared up at the branches, just barely able to make out a dark figure crouched within. He could now hear shaky breathing, the assassin obviously beginning to feel the effects of his own poison after running for so long. He was sitting tensely against the tree trunk, leaned against it for support. Grimmjow dismounted Des and risked a step forward.

"Don't," was grunted. The voice had been warped by the mask. It did not sound human.

Despite the protest, Grimmjow took another step closer.

"I have a weapon."

"So do I."

Silence.

"Come down."

"You must be an imbecile." Grimmjow forced himself to ignore the insult.

"Who ordered you to kill me?"

"Or perhaps you think me an imbecile."

Grimmjow paused for a second, thinking. "You need the antidote."

The man above hesitated. "I do not."

Meaning he already had some, and now he simply needed some time to recover? For a reason Grimmjow could not decipher, he suspected the man on the tree was lying.

"What is your name? Which kingdom is yours?"

"Never mind, I was right; you are the imbecile."

He growled at such disrespect. Not only was his patience wearing thin, but it had been years since someone had spoken to him in that fashion. The strangely altered voice set all his nerves on fire. He exhaled aloud to soothe himself. Do not lose your head, Jaegerjaquez.

Grimmjow slowly lifted his left hand and opened up the fist he'd made since he left his tent. Atop his palm rested the antitoxin he snagged from the healers. He looked up.

"I am going to leave the antidote on the ground," he explained as he lowered himself with caution. The man up on the tree most likely had a blade aimed at him, and he was not about to risk making abrupt movements.

What was he doing? Grimmjow had willingly given a stranger the remedy to a poison that same stranger had tried to kill him with. He must be out of his mind. But it felt so _right_ – as if this was some kind of opportunity he was meant to snatch, or he'd regret letting it go as long as he breathed. And he was a man of instinct.

Tense silence followed. The air was warm against Grimmjow's skin, the night tranquil – no woodland creatures crying out to the wild, no other human in sight. The moon was not yet full, but could easily be seen in the cloudless sky above.

The tumbling of hooves against ground and the voices of men broke the quiet. Grimmjow whipped his head around, sharp blue eyes searching for the source of the noises. His heart beat faster. He did not wish for the man in the tree to leave, and if someone intruded on them at the present, he surely would. He had to confirm…

"Captain Jaegerjaquez's horse! He must be near!"

Grimmjow cursed under his breath and glanced back up at the tree. The dark figure was no longer visible, the branch it had been occupying swaying slightly with the sudden loss of weight.

He was left staring up at a large, old tree, its leaves through which he could pick out fragments of the bright, round moon.

"Ichigo…"

* * *

 _Hope you liked the first chapter. The next will provide a little insight on our two favourites' childhood times!_ _There are a lot more characters to be introduced, and they will be all over the place because although I don't own the characters, I do get to decide what I want them to do in this story. So I'd be really glad if you chose to stick around!_

 _ALSO! The cover image is one of mine (you know... when grimmy sees ichi's hair in the moonlight yay). The full image can be found on Tumblr; my user is the same as my FF name._

 _Please review and let me know what you thought!_

 _Jou_


	3. 2: Empyrean Days & Golden Greys

_._

 _lacuna_

 _x_

 **2\. Empyrean Days & Golden Greys**

 **17 YRS AGO**

Grimmjow's parents never fought.

Not because they got along exceptionally well with each other, but because they had mutually agreed not to meddle in one another's lives.

His father was a shit-and-piss human being who was never seen without a flask of rum in hand. His bloodshot eyes looked exhausted at all times of the day, his rare grin a sight of terror and his gaze full of apathy. He probably had been a rather attractive lad back in the day – under all the eye bags and the overgrown hair. Now, however, he was no better than the swine in their backyard – eat, drink, shit, sleep.

On the other hand, Grimmjow's mother was a woman of maniacal passion. She was loud, seemingly always screeching at something or other. Despite her crass mannerism, she was gorgeous – pointed nose, defined jawline, explosive curves, long blue lashes. It was fairly common that she did not return home at night, most likely spending the night whoring herself out to any walking creature with a dick.

With such trash as parents, it was no surprise that the townspeople expected Grimmjow to follow the same path. They shook their heads in pity when the child walked through the town on an errand. They told their own children to stay away from him when he got into his first fight. They clicked their tongues and told each other he was mentally ill when he stopped speaking in public. They turned their heads away as he grew up in negligence.

The only person who ever cared for the child was his grandmother – an old, old lady with kind eyes and frizzy white hair. She raised the boy from birth, and died beside him on his bed when he was six. The townsmen helped bury her.

At eight years of age, his parents actually acknowledged one another in conversation. It was the first time in years, and it was about their ever-increasing debt. They agreed to sell Grimmjow.

"The palace should be interesting," his mother told him as reassurance. Neither she nor her husband said a word of apology to their boy. Grimmjow did not need it. He was glad to leave – or at least, that was what he told himself. Deep down, he was afraid.

* * *

"Hello!"

Grimmjow looked up to see a tuft of bright orange bounding toward him. He recognised the outrageously cheerful boy and his equally outrageous hair. He tensed and narrowed his eyes.

"Don't glare so hard. I won't hurt you." The boy pouted.

"I'm not afraid you'll hurt me." Grimmjow told himself he did not like this… chubby little thing. It was annoying how he refused to leave Grimmjow alone.

"Then tell me your name."

Grimmjow growled.

"I'm Ichigo. I already told you that yesterday. I've told you that seven days in a row now. It's only polite to introduce yourself too."

Grimmjow turned around in his perch on the old banyan tree he had taken quite a liking to. He'd wandered out into the neighbouring forest his second day at the palace. Ichigo had trailed him on the fourth day, and found him here every evening since, as soon as their daily duties were finished.

"Fine. I suppose I'll just have to call you Blue. Or Grumpy. Or Growly. Which would you prefer?"

The blue-haired boy whipped around to snarl, and Ichigo raised an orange eyebrow. Grimmjow rolled his eyes. He figured the kid would not give up until he got what he wanted.

"Grimmjow."

He missed the way Ichigo's eyes lit up, or the way Ichigo smiled with his entire being. That was all right, though, because he'd be able to see it soon enough anyway. Grimmjow would come to notice these little things about Ichigo as they grew up together. He'd notice the way Ichigo's brown eyes glimmered with speckled gold under the sunlight; the way his nose crinkled up whenever he was trying not to laugh; the way he cracked his knuckles with one hand whenever he was nervous about something.

He would come to notice all these little details – beautiful things that made Ichigo who he was – but all in good time. For now, Grimmjow would scowl and pretend he was not secretly relieved there was someone here around his age willing to speak to him. His parents had been shit, but he chose to believe that they were better than nothing, and being away from them and his hometown for the first time at such a young age was more than difficult.

Despite it all, for some reason, he did not feel very concerned. The child lifted his head towards the sky, where his grandmother said she would be when she could no longer stand beside him.

 _I'm going to be okay, Baba. You can watch me._

* * *

The Soul Kingdom was the largest and most powerful amongst all its neighbours. It was ruled by a wise king and protected by a great army, and had been able to maintain peace for over a century now. Apart from his first and only son and heir, the king of Soul had a beautiful young daughter with large grey-brown eyes and strawberry blond hair, who just happened to be the same age as two servant children in the palace.

Princess Orihime had been out in the garden with her governess one fine afternoon. She was wearing her newest, prettiest, pinkest dress, about which she was elated. Her maid had put her long hair up in two braids twisted into a bun, and her small feet in dainty little flats. The only thing missing now was someone to see and compliment her lovely outfit. Her father was busy, and her brother as well, so as always, she was left to her own devices for amusement.

That was when she heard laughing – one of the voices familiar, the other not so much. She quite unceremoniously dropped the flowers she had just picked and shot up from where she sat crouched.

"Ichigo!"

The addressed child halted in his tracks to glance around before spotting the young princess. They had known each other ever since Orihime had been allowed to step foot outside in the garden.

"Hime-sama," he returned with a warm smile. Orihime's tiny heart fluttered.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had an errand to run today!"

"I finished earlier than expected. It's lunchtime now, so I'm free for a little while."

Orihime furrowed her eyebrows. If she'd known Ichigo was here, she wouldn't have needed to spend the past hour or so bored out of her mind. She opened her mouth to notify him of this fact when she caught a hint of bright cyan behind Ichigo. Leaning over to see a little better, her mouth fell open at the sight of a strange newcomer. It was another boy of their age, powder blue hair cut extremely short, his eyes matching sapphires in his face – their colour much like that of the flowers she had picked earlier. Orihime knew all the other eight-year-olds in the palace (Ichigo was the only one), and yet she had never seen this boy before.

"Ichigo…?" she inquired, raising one eyebrow the way she'd seen her brother do.

"Oh, sorry, Hime-sama. This is Grimmjow; he's new here. He came not a month ago, but… I'm guessing Hime-sama hasn't run into him yet. Grimm, this is the princess."

"How old are you?" Orihime questioned abruptly.

Grimmjow stared at her for a moment longer, his gaze stone cold and unrelenting. If she was being utterly truthful, it frightened Orihime just a little bit. "Eight."

"Same age," Orihime mused. Grimmjow looked to be the same height as Ichigo, but skinnier. She turned back towards her only friend, still smiling brightly in all his orange-haired glory. Oh, how she loved his smile. "Play with me!"

At the time, none of the three children in the royal garden knew that together, they would become known as the biggest troublemakers of their time.

* * *

To be frank, the princess was one annoying bitch. Grimmjow simply went along with it because Ichigo seemed to like her company (and because she was the goddamned daughter of the king). She was always all over Ichigo, though, and that made Grimmjow strangely uncomfortable.

It was also annoying how the most casual piece of clothing she had was a light summer dress with frills on the bottom and a ribbon on her chest. She was a fast runner, but she always needed to lift her dress as she sprinted because otherwise, she'd trip on it and fall face-flat onto the ground – meaning Ichigo needed to go back for her and Grimmjow couldn't leave without him and they all ended up getting caught for whatever mischief they had been up to that day. Simply put, Princess needed pants. How did girls _live_ wearing such inconvenient things all the time? He would never understand.

Then again, Orihime was the princess of the kingdom, and whatever she wanted was always granted. It only took her a few weeks of hanging around the boys to ask for specially-made trousers and boots. Of course she got them. She could now run better, and Grimmjow had one less thing to complain about.

With time, Grimmjow also got to know Ichigo's family. His mother, Masaki, was a beautiful woman with fair skin and amber-brown hair. She had a smile like Ichigo's, her voice gentle and inviting. She always welcomed the blue-haired child to dinner. No matter how humble the menu, Grimmjow loved spending the evening with the Kurosakis, 'family' being a concept he had never truly experienced before.

Ichigo's father, Isshin, was a cheerful, almost silly man. He seemed to love his wife and children more than he loved himself, and treated Grimmjow as one of his own. He was a harder worker than anyone Grimmjow had ever met, so much so that the boy sometimes wondered how Isshin managed to plaster such a wide grin onto his face at all times of the day.

Karin and Yuzu were Ichigo's younger sisters – so different in mannerism that Grimmjow found it hard to believe they were twins. Karin was loud and violent and always wanted to do whatever her older brother did. She was always following him around, and it was cute until Grimmjow pointed it out one time and she whacked him so hard he was nursing a bruise for days. Yuzu, on the other hand, was sweet and shy and cried all the time. She took after her mother in that she was gentle and amiable, but also extremely stubborn – even more so than Karin at times. They were both brats, but they were also the only brats Grimmjow ever cared about.

The Kurosakis were always smiling. Even Grimmjow's grandmother had not smiled as much as this family did.

Then, not long after Ichigo turned nine, Masaki fell ill. She had been coughing for weeks before she finally succumbed to life in bed. Isshin tried his damnedest to keep the cheerful mask on his face, but Grimmjow could see through the façade. It was as if the sun from a solar system had petered out, throwing the orbiting planets off into chaos and confusion. It was heart-breaking.

One evening, when Masaki's condition was particularly bad, Grimmjow walked into the humble home looking for Ichigo to join him on an errand. The place was quiet, save for the soft snoring of the baby twins somewhere in the house and the muted conversation from Masaki's room.

Grimmjow was not sure why he approached on tip-toes, nor why he decided against knocking on the cracked-open door, instead opting to lean against the wall beside it. Ichigo was sitting on a small wooden stool next to Masaki's blanket-covered form.

"I will, Ma. I promise," the orange-haired boy was saying. "I'll protect them all. I'll protect you too. You don't have to worry about a thing."

There was a long pause before Masaki's gentle voice sounded, so soft that Grimmjow nearly missed it. "You're a strong boy, Ichigo. I'm proud of you." Whereas her eyes used to glitter with delighted curiosity, they were now burnt out and sunken with weariness. Her once full golden cheeks had become pale and hollowed, her slender fingers now nothing but skin and bone. It was indeed a sorrowful sight.

The boy seemed to think for a moment. "I heard some girls in the kitchen talking about an herb today. Apparently it can fix sick people. It'll fix your coughing too, Mama."

As if on cue, the bedridden woman went into a violent coughing fit. When she spoke up again, her voice was weak and breathy, as if she had to use all her strength just to speak. "Now, wouldn't that be wonderful?" Grimmjow thought he could practically hear the smile in her tone.

"Yeah. You know what? I'll go look for it." Ichigo's voice was determined. "I know what it looks like. Those girls showed me. I'll find it and it'll make you all better."

"Ichigo…"

There was a clatter as Ichigo stood abruptly and his chair tumbled to the ground. "I'll be right back, Ma. Don't worry!"

Grimmjow didn't have time to hide himself before Ichigo came dashing out. He was about to apologise for eavesdropping when Ichigo noticed him and simply took his hand, beginning to run again.

Together they sprinted into the woods and arrived at the small clearing with the tree Grimmjow had first told Ichigo his name on. There was an enormous variety of plants and herbs in the area, and Ichigo dropped to his knees as he began his search. Grimmjow shifted from foot to foot, unsure of whether he should apologise or help his friend.

"You heard me and Ma, didn't you?" Ichigo questioned before Grimmjow could make up his mind.

"Yeah. Uh, I'm really sor–"

"So help me. You heard those girls too, right? You were with me. It'll make Ma better."

Grimmjow's eyebrows furrowed together. He vaguely recalled Isane and Momo chattering away about some herb that supposedly made the consumer happier, and Grimmjow figured happiness could make one healthier, but there was no such guarantee and it couldn't possibly cure Masaki completely and Grimmjow was scared Ichigo was trying to grasp too tight onto whatever tiny sliver of hope he could find. "Ich…"

"Just help me look for it!" Ichigo yelled, his voice cracking mid-sentence. " _Please_ …"

Grimmjow flinched, not at Ichigo's outburst but at how weak and fragile the last word sounded. He dropped to the ground behind Ichigo, and neither said a word as they searched the clearing. When Ichigo finally found the herb with a triumphant, hopeful grin, it had begun to rain.

The two gathered as much as they could carry in their small hands and made a mad dash back home as the drizzle evolved into a downpour. They were both soaked and panting by the time they arrived, only to be stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Isshin sobbing beside Masaki's bed. He was home too early. Neither of the boys had ever seen Isshin cry before.

Grimmjow froze, glancing from his friend to the broken man before them. "Goat-face?" Ichigo spoke with caution.

Isshin turned around, his eyes red and swollen, both his hands clutching his wife's as if his life depended on it. The once beautiful woman lay pale and motionless on the bed, her eyes shut, and Grimmjow watched with dread as realisation spread along Ichigo's face. Both of them knew, in that moment, that sleep was not what had brought such peace over Masaki's features.

The herb they had spent so long to acquire plummeted helplessly to the floor the moment Ichigo's deadly grip loosened. His foot fell back a step, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. Grimmjow's heart was pounding too hard; he couldn't tell what Ichigo was thinking. It looked as though the boy could shatter to pieces at any given moment.

Instead, Ichigo turned and ran. Isshin called after him, voice desperate and hoarse from his tearful mourning. Grimmjow gave him a single brief glance before chasing his best friend.

It was pouring ever harder when Grimmjow made it outside. Squinting through the heavy raindrops, he spotted Ichigo crouched before the giant pond in the centre of the royal garden. He looked so small, so delicate where he sat hunched over under the pelting rain.

"Hey," Grimmjow said once he reached hearing range.

"Grimmy." It was hard to hear him over the constant noise of the downpour.

"Yeah." The blue-haired boy shuffled closer and settled in next to Ichigo, watching countless drops of rain plunge at the water of the pond. "I'm here," he quietly reminded his friend.

"I don't think Mama can cook us dinner again."

Grimmjow's little heart clenched at the words. He wanted to comfort Ichigo, tell him that they had each other and that things would be okay, but he remembered the first several weeks after his grandmother had died. Baba had been laying beside him, putting him to bed after a particularly long day. Grimmjow remembered they had been talking about the Moon and how She heard everything you ever told Her – again, just because Grimmjow loved to talk about the Moon. Then all of a sudden, Baba's wrinkled hand shot up to clutch at her chest, her breath catching in a terrifying flurry of seconds before she tumbled off the rickety old mattress. Six-year-old Grimmjow had rushed over to her side, but it had already been too late. For weeks after her burial, the young boy had wanted nothing more than a warm embrace and for people to quit telling him _everything was going to be all right_.

So instead of giving his best friend a flurry of unwanted reassurance and empty promises, Grimmjow pulled Ichigo's freezing body close and held him tight, letting him sob into his already drenched tunic. He had stopped talking to the Moon since Baba died, but that rainy day, he closed his eyes and spoke to Her in his head.

 _If I am allowed a certain amount of happiness, please give it all to Ichigo instead. I am going to protect him, no matter what it takes. So watch over us. We're going to make it to the end._

* * *

 _I decided to upload today because of a really, really kind note from an anon on Tumblr. Thank you again._

 _1.) I took "Soul Kingdom" from the Soul King Palace, since it seemed fitting that Grimm fought to protect it too. 2.) Aren't the kids adorable? Too bad I break their hearts into pieces several years into the future… 3.) I have been changing up the summary a lot because I just can't seem to get it right… Apologies for any confusion that may have caused._

 _ **Next chapter**_ _, we'll get to see Ichi (and his amazing friends), present day! The chronology & POV's sort of hop around like crazy, but I hope you're following so far. It'll probably only get more mixed up, but I will try my best to clearly get my point across without completely screwing up the whole thing._

 _Please leave a review; let me know what you thought!_

 _Jou_


	4. 3: The Frivolity of Remembrance

_*warnings for lots & lots of modern swearing_

 _lacuna_

 _x_

 **3\. The Frivolity of Remembrance**

 **PRESENT**

Ichigo lay spread out on a small bed, aching stomach wound self-stitched-and-bandaged, mask in hand above his face as he stared. The animal bone was polished to perfection, carved and painted with blood-like crimson that greatly resembled large claw marks across his face. It had been a gift from Shiro, his friend of two long years. How far they'd come from the heated brawl they'd gotten into on the first day of meeting one another. It was difficult to believe that a pair notorious for hating each other had become so inseparable.

He loved the mask and wore it whenever he found the opportunity, and earlier that night had been no exception. To be frank, even Ichigo knew that straying so far from Las Noches had been a risky move, especially with nothing but a couple of throwing blades and his dagger dabbed in a bit of stolen poison. Sneaking out of base was a fairly regular occurrence for him, but none of his previous outings had served much purpose other than a change of scenery or a short break for air. Tonight had been the first time an escape trip had actually held an objective – Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

All Ichigo knew about the fearless leader of Soul was that the man was notorious for his seemingly endless lust for blood and contrasting lack of mercy. Also, _blue_ hair. Who has _blue_ hair?

Earlier that week, Ichigo coincidentally overheard a conversation between Zommari and Aaroniero, two of Aizen's more influential goons both of whom Ichigo was not quite fond of. The subject of their chat involved the Soul Kingdom's captain, who was supposedly taking a couple of his men around to make negotiations with neighbouring lands. The kingdom was suspecting a brewing war, and if Las Noches did not attack soon, all their patience would backfire on them. The pair was clearly frustrated by the need to wait even longer for this "Hogyoku" to be developed. Ichigo frowned at this, puzzled by the term. It sounded familiar, but he could not seem to put a finger on where he had heard it before.

The conversation was cut off by Ulquiorra, a pale man with dark, uneven hair and apathetic green eyes. His atmosphere alone was enough to cause the lesser soldiers scatter, but the accompanied glower made even Zommari and Aaroniero glance at one another in anxiety.

 _"Do not unleash your incessant blabbering in public spaces. Your idiocy may be contagious."_

 _"C-calm down, Cifer. There is no one around."_

 _"Aaroniero is correct. Besides, not one lesser fool in this place will even know that it is_ the _Hogyoku we speak–"_

 _A sword had then been drawn, its deadly sharp tip resting comfortably against Zommari's throat. The dark-skinned man tensed and stood a little straighter._

 _"Would you like to shut your mouth voluntarily, or must I taint my sword with your vocal chords in order for you to stop speaking?"_

Ichigo had been much too absorbed in the heated interaction that he just barely managed to yank his head back in behind a wall when Ulquiorra whipped around. The redhead walked as quickly and quietly as possible, away from the three and around a corner out of eyesight before Ulquiorra left the stupid duo behind. Ichigo, in his rush to get away, had gone in the wrong direction. _Act natural_ , he told himself as he turned around and ambled back towards where he had come from. He kept his head down and did not forget to bow when Ulquiorra glided past him without a second glance.

He had no idea what this "Hogyoku" was, but he did know Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez's name, and it sounded too familiar for him not to claw at his head for answers. He could not place the face of this man nor how he could ever have met the renowned captain of the largest enemy kingdom's army. After all, he was a nobody, born and raised in the small town far, far away from the secret underground base he had grown accustomed to living in now. He barely even remembered his old home anymore. He did not need to. He had had nothing in his old life – no money, no family – which therefore meant he had nothing to grieve over when he left to join Aizen's army.

Five rhythmic knocks woke Ichigo from his reverie. His arm was aching from holding his mask up for too long, so he shook it out and scooted to the edge of the bed to slide it under, where all his other prized possessions were kept. Even with such a grandiose title, however, the meagre collection only consisted of the mask, a small wooden pan flute, and his dagger.

Ichigo stood, ignoring the pain it caused him. The stab wound in his abdomen was screaming. The paralysing poison was gone, but the pulsing pain remained, so he walked slowly and opened the door with caution. It was extremely late into the night – no, scratch that – it was early morning by this time. Either he had been caught escaping, or one of his friends had snuck over.

The man visibly relaxed to find that he had been blessed with the latter. Nnoitra stood towering over him on the other side of the doorway, messy black hair cascading all over his face – signature look completed with a thin chain necklace decorated with two back-to-back crescent moons and a bandana sloppily tied around his head to cover his left eye. Even Ichigo had yet to see what lay hidden underneath that bit of fabric.

"Nnoi, what are you do–" Ichigo began in a frantic whisper as he glanced around the hallway to check for witnesses. He was cut off by his ridiculously tall friend, who shoved his way into the small room, yanking Ichigo in with him before noiselessly shutting and locking the door behind him. He looked like he had been tossing and turning in bed by the looks of his night clothing and his disheveled hair. In the dim candlelight, Ichigo noticed that the crescent moons had left a red mark on Nnoitra's chest where he had most likely slept on it.

The dark-haired man put a finger to his lips, requesting silence as he listened anxiously for any passer-by. There were none, as it was still a while before dawn. Nnoitra seemed to relax at last, sauntering over to Ichigo's bed and making himself comfortable before turning back toward the owner of the room.

"Ya went out again," Nnoitra remarked, his tone hushed. His leg was repeatedly bouncing up and down, as if nervous about something.

Ichigo nodded slowly. Both Nnoitra and Shiro knew about his escapades.

The lanky man stared at him with wide grey eyes, giving him a look that told Ichigo he was a halfwit. "Chigo," – he refused to call the redhead anything other than the absurd nickname – " _ya forgot about the_ _goddamned meeting_."

This time, Ichigo's eyes were the ones to grow in shocked realisation. He had been so eager to sneak out and see this _Jaegerjaquez_ for himself that the meeting had completely slipped his mind. "Oh, no way…"

"Yeah," Nnoitra huffed, lips forming a laugh but eyes clearly unamused. "I told Yammy you were sick in bed. Consider it a fuckin' blessin' he's a dumb cluck and left it at that."

"Does Aizen…?"

"Y'know how Yammy is. Left it to Shiro to write up the report." He looked disgusted. "All was present during the meeting." And now he looked triumphant.

"Thanks, I owe you one."

"Damn right you do." He adjusted the bandana on his face, expertly loosening the knot just enough so he could retie it without revealing whatever lay underneath. "Had to put up wit' Shiro's bitchin' all day, 'bout what careless garbage he chose to associate himself wit' or somethin' like that."

Ah… that sucked. "Would it be safe to assume that I am the 'careless garbage' in this context?" Ichigo questioned cautiously, as if there could be a _sliver_ of hope that his assumption was wrong. Nnoitra let out a frustrated sigh in response, which Ichigo took as an affirmative to his inquiry. It was impossible to deal with a pissed off Shiro, but fortunately, Ichigo had mastered the art over the years. Come to think of it, Shiro would have run straight over on any of the other nights after Ichigo went out, just to see where he went and how it was and what did he see, et cetera. Ichigo found the albino's absence a little alarming. "Wait, Nnoi, where is he?"

"Passed out early 'cause he wore himself out attacking anything in sight. Like a mad dog."

Ichigo grimaced. Shiro must be really angry with him. His white-haired friend never liked when Ichigo went out alone, but missing a meeting on top of that? Perhaps he had taken it a slight bit too far.

"You think he'll listen to an apology?"

"There's no way in hell."

* * *

Shiro looked bafflingly similar to Ichigo, yet strikingly different at the same time. At first glance, an outsider would only notice Ichigo's long, bright orange locks and Shiro's short, snow-white hair. Their twin-like features registered only after Ichigo's tan skin and Shiro's pale complexion.

And the eyes.

Ichigo's eyes were a soft honey-brown. Shiro's were a frightening combination of black sclera and golden irises. Ichigo had been spooked by the man's otherworldly appearance at first, but now he found everything about him hauntingly beautiful.

"–So damn reckless–"

When Shiro was angry, there was no stopping his ranting until he was tired or he felt that the receiver had had enough. And currently, he was _livid._

"–Can't fucking believe you–"

At present, he had Ichigo by the collar of his top, spewing venom at the redhead with his heated words. He barely visible brows were drawn together in a deep scowl, teeth bared as he snarled at his friend. He'd caught Ichigo with a cackling Nnoitra in the dining hall as soon as breakfast was served.

"Yer skinny and weak and _obviously_ you would go get hurt by your own fuckin' weapon and I keep telling you to let me go instead if you wanna see somethin' and – how could you forget about the godforsaken meeting? It was the _one_ most important thing all week and you–!" Shiro was _shaking_ in his wrath, but took a deep breath when Nnoitra placed a hand on his arm. The taller man had been laughing enough to last him at least a couple of years, but it seemed he was finished now. Shiro calmed down considerably, releasing Ichigo from his deadly grip. Sometimes, it appeared as though Shiro forgot that his orange-haired friend and he had nearly identical builds, and that they had both beaten each other half to death in the fight they'd had when they first met.

"Shi, if I wanted to see something, and you went to see it in place of me, that would be missing the whole point," Ichigo reasoned, silently thanking Nnoitra. His stomach wound was beginning to hurt again, and he was afraid the self-applied stitches would tear. "Besides, it had to be last night. Any other night would not have worked." He was trying to alleviate the albino's wrath as best he could, and it seemed to be working. Shiro dropped down onto the seat opposite the other two, glowering down at the innocent table.

"Just… if you get caught, man, that sick bastard Aizen's gonna take you right back to that hellhole he calls _the Playroom_." Shiro shuddered, disgusted by the thought alone. He'd been there before, and never wanted to go back.

Ichigo grinned, ruffling his friend's white hair. He liked when Shiro got all pouty, especially since it was such a rare occurrence. The man himself refused to admit he _pouted_ in any sense of the word, but Ichigo begged to differ. It was cute.

"It's that stupid captain, ain't it?" Nnoitra piped up from beside him, fingers picking absently at his meal. Both he and Shiro knew all about Ichigo's strange, not-really-there memory of this blue-haired Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. "Didja meet 'im or somethin'? Don't tell me yer lunatic trip went to waste."

"I mean…" Ichigo had to think. They'd talked. And tried to kill each other. "I guess we met."

"Oh, Captain-san!" Nnoitra's voice was pitched high in mockery. "So good to see you somewhere not in my dreams! I've longed to be one with you for so long – take me now!"

Ichigo whacked him hard on the back of the head, to which Nnoitra burst out laughing. His cackles drew more attention than necessary. "Shut up," Ichigo said, "he's the enemy, remember?"

But was he really? Ichigo recalled the captain's intense blue eyes reflecting the light of the moon, movements cautious as he offered him the antidote to Ichigo's poison. Who in their right mind would do such a thing?

"So did you remember something?" Shiro asked, leaning over the table. His gaze burned with curiosity.

"No." Ichigo chewed on the inner walls of his mouth. "Nothing." He had thought that if he saw the impossibly familiar captain in person, this infuriating blockade in his mind would vanish and some sort of memory would come rushing back to him. It hadn't.

He could tell his friends were waiting for more. He considered telling them that although _he_ hadn't remembered anything special, it had looked as though Jaegerjaquez recognised him. That he'd almost wanted to stay and speak with Jaegerjaquez in case he could answer some of Ichigo's many questions, which was absolutely absurd. That he'd never meant to reveal himself to the blue-eyed captain, but things never really went according to plan, did they?

"I think I somehow came across as wanting to kill him," Ichigo said instead. Nnoitra scoffed.

"Bet you just snuck in and watched, didn't ya? I'd have thought the same, you fool."

"Didja kill him?" Shiro asked, eyes waiting earnestly.

"What? No." Ichigo scrunched up his nose at the thought. "That's not what I went there for."

"Then what _did_ you skip a meeting and nearly put your head on the line for?" God. Shiro was never going to let this go, was he?

"I told you, I had to –"

"Yeah," the white-haired man interrupted, "yeah. You had to see him. Because he looked fucking _familiar_ when there's no fucking way you could've ever met, and because you're a reckless bastard who cares more for this _mystery_ asshole – who, might I add, is our _enemy_ – than you do about yourself or how damn shitty Nnoitra and I'd feel if Aizen found out and beat the shit out of you. Or worse, if you go and get killed on your own. That's bull. Fuck you."

Shiro shot to his feet and stormed out of the dining hall. It was as if a hurricane had passed through, and no one knew what to do in the peace of the aftermath. Ichigo, stunned by the albino's word vomit, sat staring at the seat his friend had been occupying not ten seconds ago. Shiro had never been this angry with him before, but not like this. It was almost difficult to believe how _not-Shiro_ Shiro was acting. Was he really this pissed because Ichigo missed a meeting?

"You gonna go after him or what?"

The redhead squeezed his eyes shut, willing a blooming headache to scram. "Yeah," he replied without looking at the man to his right. He trusted Nnoitra to clean up after their barely-eaten meals, fully aware that the tall man would be whining about it all week.

Shiro's door was unlocked, but only because it had broken and ceased to work properly when the albino had slammed it a tad bit too hard earlier that week. He cursed when he noticed Ichigo entering without permission and attempted to physically kick the redhead out. Ichigo grabbed a pale ankle, effectively throwing Shiro off-balance and slamming him onto the floor.

" _Fuck!_ "

"Shiro, calm down!"

"Fuck you, cunt," he snarled, kicking and flailing his legs until Ichigo was forced to let go of them.

"Shiro!"

The albino leapt up and pounced on Ichigo, fist already raised and ready to strike.

"You're not Shiro," Ichigo blurted in desperation. That got his attention.

"The fuck you talkin' about, you imbecile. Who else would I be?"

"You aren't acting like yourself today."

"I'm me and that's all I'll ever be. Fuck you."

"I'm sorry I missed the meeting, okay? Thank you for covering for me. I know that was shitty of me, but it's no reason for you to get so pissed. So what exactly is the issue?"

Shiro's beautiful, beautiful eyes were shaking. He averted them and stood, brushing himself off before crawling into his bed. It was body language for _Get out; I'm tired of your face._

But Ichigo persisted. "Shiro…" He oftentimes was not even aware of the fact that he used puppy-eyes, and that they _worked_. The albino mumbled something under the covers. "What?"

"I said, I don't like 'im," Shiro popped out to say and slid right back in once finished.

"Who? Jaegerjaquez? I mean, he _is_ supposed to be the enemy."

"See?" He shoved the covers from his face, propping himself up on an elbow. "I don't like the way you say he's _supposed_ to be the enemy. He _is_ the goddamned enemy. I don't really give a goose fuck about that, but… I don't like the way he looks. I have a bad feeling 'bout 'im, a'ight?"

Ichigo huffed a laugh, confusion evident on his face. "Okay, yeah, he _is_ the enemy – what is up with you? You've never been one to nit-pick on shit like that."

That seemed to affect Shiro more than Ichigo expected. The albino ground his teeth together, thin eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I just – don't go near him again, ya hear? He's… dangerous."

"You know him?"

"'Course not."

There was something suspicious in the way his white-haired friend answered just a little too quickly. Shiro was holding back, was refusing to tell him something important. No doubt about that. Shiro loved adventure, risking his life, anything that screamed _danger_. It was almost surreal how cautious he seemed to be now, urging Ichigo to stay away from Jaegerjaquez.

"… Now c'mere."

"What?"

Shiro rolled his eyes and sat up completely. "Yer stiches are fucked, aren't they? The meeting said we're finally gonna start this godforsaken war; we can't have ya bleedin' out before battle. We attack the first town over in three days' time."

* * *

 _This was supposed to be uploaded a WHILE ago but oh well. I rewrote this chapter multiple times… I hope you guys like it. There was a lot of modern swearing, I KNOW, but I really wasn't about to use **sard** in place of fuck. Lol. ALSO my summer break is over, which means SCHOOL which means stressed out Jou which means less time to write which means disaster in every sense of the word. SO YEAH! Enjoy._

 ** _Next chapter:_** _we're jumpin' back to some nice childhood thingamajigs. I think. Look, I'm writing this shit as I go, and it's really fucking difficult. Haaaaahahhahha._

 _Please review and let me know what you thought. It really pushes me to write more._

 _Jou_


	5. 4: Once Upon a Time

_lacuna_

 _x_

 **4\. Once Upon a Time**

 **16 YRS AGO**

Ichigo used to cry at the drop of a needle. He would tear up whenever Byakuya caught Grimmjow, Inoue, and him red-handed while or after pranking him, which they did much too often for Byakuya's very limited amount of patience. He would cry like there was no tomorrow whenever some of the older kids bullied him, but broke out into wide smiles when Grimmjow took his hand and began running. He would burst out sobbing whenever they came across a dead or injured animal on the road, dropping to the ground and picking the small critter up to yell urgently, "It's still breathing; we have to save it! Hurry, Grimm, it'll die!"

After Masaki, Ichigo stopped crying.

"I want to become stronger," he told Grimmjow one day as they sat side-by-side near the pond, watching the sunset paint the sky magenta. He'd spent the last month without Masaki in near silence, and Grimmjow had feared his best friend would never smile again. He'd lost a lot of weight as well – a little too much weight, but Grimmjow did not know who to tell.

Both boys were nursing the several bruises they had acquired earlier that afternoon, when they'd gotten into a particularly violent argument with Ikkaku and his gang – eleven-year-olds who had nothing to do in their free time other than bully smaller children. Grimmjow and Ichigo found them in a circle surrounding ten-year-old Hanataro, tossing the poor boy's shirt around as they taunted his scrawny build and nervous demeanour.

" _You dumb turds better stop," Ichigo called aloud, effectively halting the cruel play. It was the first time in quite a while that Grimmjow had properly heard his friend's voice._

" _Oh, look who it is," Yumichika cooed with a cock of his hips. "Berry-chan? Is it really you? I haven't seen you in so long; I thought you were dead."_

 _Hanataro scrambled over to grab his shirt, which had been forgotten on the dirt floor. Hisagi glowered down at the skinny boy, but allowed him to stumble away from the spectacle._

" _Come on, Yumi, don't be mean. We all know that's a real sensitive topic." Ikkaku licked his lips in amusement. "Speaking of, where's your mama? Haven't seen_ her _around much."_

 _Grimmjow grit his teeth angrily, stepping forward unconsciously before Ichigo tugged on his tunic, willing him to calm down._

" _Oh,_ right, _sorry Berry-chan, we forgot." Ikkaku sneered, glancing around at his friends. "_ She's dead _."_

 _That's it._

So little Grimmjow had snapped, charging with all the anger of a riled up bull and slamming his fist into Ikkaku's face with as much adrenaline as he had had in his very first fight, back at his old town. Yumichika and Hisagi cursed and attacked at once, successfully holding Grimmjow down while Ikkaku recovered enough to kick furiously at the boy's stomach. Naturally, Ichigo screamed and joined before the abuse could get too far, and by the time someone came along, all five of them lay panting and wheezing on the ground, bruised and bloodied with their energy sufficiently drained and their angers well diminished.

Now they sat. Grimmjow mulled over Ichigo's words. "How?"

The redhead turned to face him. "I met this guy. He's a little weird, but I think he can help. He said he could."

"What's his name?"

"Kisuke Urahara."

"I don't know, Ich…"

But damn, how could he resist Ichigo's puppy-eyes? He didn't think anyone could.

"Fine."

The next day, they ended up deep in the forest, a little lost and searching for this mysterious cottage Ichigo claimed Urahara lived in.

"So how'd you meet this guy anyway?"

Ichigo's eyes were high-speed scanning, trying to find a landmark he recognised. "I took a walk."

"This is really far in," Grimmjow reminded him, brow raised in concern. He wanted to tell Ichigo that it was probably very dangerous to trust a man who lived in such a shady part of the forest.

"I know. I needed a break from everyone." Grimmjow understood that. He'd felt the same way after Baba died. "He said to follow the marks…"

Then Ichigo yelled happily and ushered Grimmjow over to where he stood beside a tree. The trunk had a deep horizontal line carved into the bark at eye level – so discreet, one would not notice unless he knew what he was looking for. There were several more of these marked trees, and the children followed the trail until they arrived at a small rundown candy store. Upon entrance, they found a small room full of sweets in jars and shelves. There were no lit candles in the room, and even with the light streaming in through the window, it was eerily dark.

Ichigo led the way through the tempting candies and to a sliding door in the back of the store.

"Ichigo-kun," a blond man greeted the children. He had awkwardly long hair and a green-white bucket hat that shadowed his eyes, and wore a fluttery green cloak with wooden sandals. Simply put, he was an overall rare sight in the kingdom, and Grimmjow immediately decided he did not trust him. "You brought a friend."

"Hi, Urahara-san, this is Grimmjow."

"Pleased to meet you, Grimmjow-kun." The man extended a hand, but Grimmjow did not shake it. Urahara seemed undeterred. "Would you like some tea?"

"We want to become stronger. Will you help us?" Ichigo asked, stepping forward, unknowingly activating his puppy-eyes again. He really needed to stop doing that in front of other people.

Urahara paused, raised his fingers to his lips, and hummed – as if thinking, considering. Just when Grimmjow was about to give up and drag Ichigo out of there, the blond opened his mouth. "May I ask why?"

Grimmjow furrowed his brows at the personal question, but glanced over at his orange-haired friend anyway. He wanted to know the answer as well. Grimmjow could fight for him – _would_ fight for him. There was no need for Ichigo to become stronger.

"I want to be able to protect the people I care about."

* * *

 **PRESENT**

The pit stop at the small kingdom of Dangai had not originally been part of the plan, but an unexpected snag had forced them to stall their journey. One of his men had fallen deathly ill, seemingly having eaten something horribly detrimental to one's immediate health, and the medics and supplies currently available to them were inadequate to the circumstances. The only option other than leaving the man to die was to settle at the nearest civilisation. Fortunately, previous connections sparked recognition between Grimmjow and the higher-ups in Dangai, and the captain and his men were welcomed into the small kingdom and immediately offered both medical care for the ailing soldier and a place to stay overnight.

The past several days had been an exhausting medley of travelling, negotiating, and more travelling, the orange-haired intruder from three nights ago running through Grimmjow's weary mind all the while. Grimmjow wracked his brain for any leads to the identity of the man, making queries to servants of kingdoms he stayed in to see whether they knew of any man matching such a description. The wavering hope that that man truly was his old friend never left him, even though he knew – he _knew_ Ichigo was long gone. After all, Grimmjow had searched all these years to come up with nothing but grief and disappointment that had eventually driven him mad. If it had not been for Abarai, now his right hand, he would probably have been wasting away at a local pub right this moment, a parasite to human civilisation and wallowing in sorrow, incapable of getting his sorry head out of past regrets. No use dwelling on spilt milk; he had to focus on the present.

Grimmjow shook his head to clear it, eyes tired but determined, and blew out the candlelight beside his bed.

The attack came well into the night, when the innumerable stars glittered above the sleeping creatures below. Grimmjow's restless slumber was broken by a slam of the door and the creaking of the floorboards, the captain opening his eyes just in time to roll out of the way of a long metal sword piercing through his pillow, where his head had been not two seconds ago. He whipped his own weapon from its sheath – something he always kept close at night in preparation for exactly this sort of occurrence. The fight was quick, hardly a minute. Grimmjow finished his opponent, noticing, on closer inspection, both the entirely black clothing and the bone mask he was wearing. The latter was ugly – nothing like the sleek, beautifully crafted mask the orange-haired man from three nights ago had been wearing.

Grimmjow did not linger. He swivelled around for a quick glance out the window, realising just how bright it was in his unlit room. It should not be this bright at this hour of the night. His stomach sank.

Fire. Grimmjow's eyes widened as he took in the several houses already raging with flames.

The sight looked all too similar to the unforgettable ambush of four years ago. Grimmjow had already lost Ichigo; there was nothing remaining that could kill him inside as much as that had. But the horribly familiar scene still left him in a panic, unease settling like poison in his stomach.

The war had begun.

* * *

As ironic as it was, there was a certain beauty to the red and orange lights dancing about the ground as ashes and smoke rose heavily into the clear night sky. The hot air engulfed his entire being, and Ichigo felt curiously estranged even as chaos erupted all around him. He had been in such a situation before, once upon a time; he simply could not put a finger on when that might have been.

"King!" Warm liquid splattered Ichigo's cheek, the redhead whipping around to see Shiro at his side and panting by a freshly created corpse. Ichigo could see Shiro's glower through the albino's own bone mask. "The fuck do you think you're doin'? This is the absolute _worst_ time to be spacin' out, you nut. Yer gonna get yerself killed, and I ain't gonna give a shit."

Ichigo was quick to apologise, but found it difficult to shake off the curious feeling of déjà vu.

The pair split off briefly to inspect a couple of the houses still intact, deciding to meet back outside quickly to fight off Dangai's soldiers, most likely already on their way. Ichigo was cautious in his approach into the strangely quiet cottage, warm lights flickering across the wooden floorboards through the windows. His heart pounded in his ears, and he gripped his weapon tightly as he travelled farther inside.

A scream erupted to his left, and he turned in time to see a woman charging at him with a ceramic pot. He stepped to the side to avoid her, and she stumbled helplessly to the floor. Two small children peeked out from behind a fallen table, eyes wide with terror. It wasn't until Ichigo noticed them that the woman got back up to come at him again, only to fall once more to the ground when Ichigo hit her stomach with his sheathed blade. She no longer had a weapon, for the pot had shattered during her first fall. The children were now crying, stabbing at Ichigo's chest with a power they did not know they were capable of.

 _This_ was war. Unnecessary brutality and no mercy for the weak. He hated it.

"Woman," Ichigo said aloud, hands ready to drop his sword but also ready to raise it if needed. "I'm going to get you out."

It seemed she did not believe him, for she screamed again as she tried to strike him with her bare hands, her cheeks now streaked with tears and her hair matted with sweat. She looked almost hysterical. Ichigo realised his mask and distorted voice might be frightening her, and proceeded to reveal his bare face.

"Listen," he hissed, gripping her thin wrists with a little too much strength. He loosened his hold slightly when she winced. "I wish to get you and your children out of here – safe. But I need your help to do so. I understand it is difficult, but you must trust me."

The woman's gaze was full of both shock and doubt. She nodded nonetheless.

"Do you have a back door? A window, perhaps?"

"W-we do," she breathed, her voice still shaking. She stood and gathered her children before leading them all into a small room in the back, where a decently sized window was built high into the wall.

"I will boost you up, and when you get out, _run._ Run as fast and as far away from here as possible. Do you understand me?"

Ichigo repositioned his mask on his face and hurried back out to the front door to assess the situation as the woman collected a few belongings for the escape. The soldiers of Dangai were now fighting back at full force; it would soon be time to retreat. After all, their overbearing purpose was not to destroy kingdoms, but to weaken them only enough for… for what, exactly? Ichigo had a terrible feeling about whatever it was that Aizen was plotting behind the scenes.

The coast seemed clear for the moment. "NOW!" he yelled into the house, dashing back outside before he could hear the woman respond.

Shiro. Where was Shiro? Ichigo supposed he took a tad too long in the house, but Shiro should still have been out here. His gaze flickered back and forth between burning homes, fallen bodies, and yelling citizens. He fought off three soldiers before his searching eyes finally fell on a tall figure.

"Where is Shiro?" Ichigo queried, almost yelling to be heard over the background noise even as he stood back-to-back with Nnoitra.

"Ain't he wit' you?" They were surrounded, but Ichigo had seen worse than six against two before.

"Clearly, I've lost him!"

The command to retreat was sure to fall at any moment now. Ichigo was beginning to panic. What if something terrible had happened? Shiro was not one to simply disappear without notice.

Ichigo roared as he tore through several soldiers at once. He had to find Shiro before the army withdrew.

* * *

 **1 HR LTR**

Grimmjow glared down at his three prisoners, bound to immobility with tough rope. They all wore unique bone masks, only one of which – the one belonging to the freak with spiky white hair – was clean and polished, the look almost identical to that of the orange-haired fellow rooted in his every thought. He had waited to return to the POW's until the kingdom was completely devoid of fire. Damage repairs and the search for missing persons were still ongoing, but Shawlong and the captain of Dangai's army were leading those tasks. Grimmjow felt no need to join them.

"Remove their masks," he commanded. He preferred to look his captives directly in the eye as he threatened their lives.

The two with the disfigured masks were just as plain underneath the bone. The white-haired prisoner, however, had quite the shocking facial features – unnaturally chalky face with gold irises and black sclera. The mutant creature growled at Grimmjow, baring sharp canines not dissimilar to a white wolf's.

The captain crouched, cocking his head as he stared at the albino from a distance just far enough that the latter could not reach when he lunged forward violently.

"Are you _ill_?" Grimmjow inquired. He blinked, waiting for an answer that never came. "You look rather… pallid."

The corner of pale, chapped lips quirked upwards, but the mocking smirk reached nowhere near his glowering eyes. Grimmjow knew his kind. This one would not speak even if his very life depended on it.

"Whose army do you belong to?" As expected, there was no reply. "Where do you come from and what is your purpose?

Snowy turned too quickly for Grimmjow to react, and spat directly in his face. The blue-haired captain clenched his eyes shut, face screwed up in disgust. Slowly, he wiped the offending fluid away with his sleeve.

"You," he snapped, pointing a finger at a soldier to his left, who started at being addressed so suddenly. "His finger."

The soldier seemed to hesitate, but only for a brief moment. He hastened to grab Snowy's wrists and twist him around, only to be halted by the tip of Grimmjow's bloodied sword at his throat.

"Not _his_ , you fool," he said and flicked his chin toward a prisoner bound to Snowy's right, " _his._ "

The victim's eyes widened in fear, lips blubbering panicked nonsense. Grimmjow glanced at Snowy, who was glaring in the other direction – the _I don't give two shits about him_ face.

"No, no, no, no, no –" the prisoner screamed as Grimmjow's soldier drew near, dagger at the ready. "No, please, no –"

This one was a coward, a milksop. _This_ one he might be able to work with.

"Wait," Grimmjow pronounced. The soldier paused immediately and backed away, while Grimmjow shuffled directly in front of the terrified prisoner. "Bring him inside."

He rose to his feet and made his way into an only slightly scorched house. Milksop was dragged in, unable to use his feet due to the restraining ropes. Grimmjow took a seat on the ground beside the prisoner, tossed unceremoniously to the ground. "Your friend back there isn't quite fond of speaking, is he?"

Milksop's eyes flickered back and forth, clearly scared stiff and lost as to what he should say.

"He looks a little grumpy. But I'm kind of hoping you're smarter."

The captain's expression was stone-cold even as he ran the flat of his dagger along his palm, gazing at the object as if mesmerised by it's beauty. Silence stretched on for a suffocating minute before he finally looked up and smiled sweetly at his captive.

"Do you think you could answer a couple of questions for me?"

* * *

 _Writer's block can suck my ass._

 _ **Next chapter:**_ _some plot moving-forward action, fINallY… shiro & grimm, probably… ichi will show up… idk. Tune in to find out! (corny commercial voice)_

 _Let me know what you thought! I love reading reviews and messages from you guys._

 _Jou_


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